Futile Fantasy
by chaichild22
Summary: Will Olaf ever get what he wants?


A tall, gaunt man sat at the desk opposite Doctor Gregorio. It had been two years since he had done any organized crime of any sort. Doctor Gregorio was seated comfortably in his black, leather chair. His eyes were scanning a file that had been sent to him, his fingers twitching at the sides of the paper. He grunted occasionally and every time he did so, the lean man would dart his watered eyes upwards at the Doctor, guilt ingrained into every corner of those gray, gray eyes. Finally, Doctor Gregorio placed the file on the oak table that separated him from his patient and looking up for the first time, focused his dark eyes on the man sitting in front of him. He looked him over at first, as if he had never seen him before that second, then he began to speak. "I am Doctor Gregorio, though you may call me Gregorio," he said, flashing two rows of beautifully cleaned and aligned teeth at the man as he did. "And you, Mr. Olaf, are welcome into my office any time you would like." A pause ensued. Another pause. Was anyone going to say anything? Finally, the psychologist picked up the tab and began again. "So, where would you like to start? You may start anywhere, anywhere at all. Just begin when you are comfortable. You don't even have to speak today. You don't have to speak tomorrow. Jolly Rancher?" His abrupt question caught Olaf's attention and he reached ravenously forward at the bowl of Jolly Ranchers. He grabbed a handful and ate them two at a time. That was his favorite part about being in psychiatric wards—they always gave him candy.  
  
The next day went quite the same way for Doctor Gregorio. Olaf entered the dark room with his back hunched, his arms shoved deep into his pockets. How had he become so shriveled in so little time? Two years was nothing compared to his thirteen years of crime and experience. Why had he suddenly become so vulnerable, so afraid? He sat down at one end of the long wooden table. Through the faint light of the half-drawn curtains, the wood seemed to glow in an eerie light. It was beautiful however, the whole room was. The shade of the curtains was perfect—a mixture of tan and mauve, so balanced that it was not one specific color. The carpet was thick and warm and reminded Olaf of the sand at a beach he had visited when he was young. Oh, that was so long ago...when he was young... Memories imploded in his mind and he found himself jerking his head violently to the left, as if that would drive them out. His eye caught onto something at the other end of the room however. It was a framed picture in the middle of a pompous display of diplomas. The light had caught the picture perfectly so that the only thing Olaf could see was a bright white slash through the glass and the reflection of the curtain engraved. He got up to see what had been so perfectly concealed by neither man nor Satan, his curiosity urging him on. When he reached, he realized what it was. It was a simple picture, nothing complex or even remotely interesting. It was a fine autumn day and the wind was blowing through the trees and the grass. Red and orange had been smeared everywhere, as if by a master painter hidden among the golden clouds. And there, seated at a bench, was a girl, her head thrown back in a sudden spasm of laughter, the wind blowing her chocolate hair out behind her. And even in her moment of hysterics, she was so beautiful, like the wave in a raging hurricane. Her chin was tilted to the side and her eyes were fixed affectionately at the camera. So perfect, so perfect... Olaf lifted his hand to her face, as if he could brush away that stray strand of hair on her cheek through the glass and slick coating of the photograph. The door of the quiet room opened with the slick sound of polished metal on polished metal. The doctor walked in, and Olaf's hand flew down to his pocket, ashamed of the only sin it had committed in the last two years. "Olaf!" the doctor cried in a sudden paroxysm. His voice was light and welcoming, as if he hadn't noticed Olaf's embarrassment. "Yes." All he said. "Sit down, please," the doctor gestured with a smile. What a giddy doctor he was. Olaf seated himself, nonetheless and began eating his Jolly Ranchers once again.  
  
Weeks continued in that fashion—the doctor watching Olaf eat his Jolly Ranchers patiently and attentively and Olaf sneaking a glance at the woman in the picture occasionally. Every time he caught a glimpse of her, he lowered his eyes and opened two more Jolly Ranchers, stuffing them in his mouth. There were too many memories to recall. Where would he start? But the doctor never pushed, patience, patience, always patience. After their forty-five minutes a day was up, the doctor would hand Olaf an extra Jolly Rancher before he pulled the bowl away and would stand up, bidding him "fare well" and "I'll see you tomorrow, Olaf". 


End file.
